Dragons Should Be Loved
by UnknownDepths
Summary: Draco finally does as his father wishes; he gets a Dark Mark. However, can he adjust to his new life as his school life turns upside down? Can one girl accept this new Draco, even while trying to start her own life? Can the two enemys learn to be more?
1. Chapter 1: Summers and Mudbloods

Hey there all! I'm really new at this whole thing, so I hope you like it! I know that this is rather short, but it is the first chapter! Can't have the whole book in the first chapter! Thanks so much, by the way, for taking the time to read my humble past time. Ha, enjoy!

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Chapter 1: Summers and Mudbloods

Hermione checked her watch again, sighing when she saw that it was 8:15. The boys were late, as usual. She stood up on her toes, peering over all the bustling heads to spot a patch of fire. It was always easy to spot Ron and his family, their signature red hair a dead giveaway. She huffed, sinking back down as she pouted. She really had wanted to see them as soon as she could; she'd missed them so much! Finally, she heard Harry's voice.

"…just have to find her, and then we can all-"

He didn't get to finish that sentence, because with a delighted shriek, Hermione jumped on him. She held him tight, her grin reaching all the way across her face. She released a very flustered Harry Potter, and then pounced on Ron. He seemed just as surprised as Harry, but he at least had the sense to hug her back. It wasn't two seconds after she had released him that she started talking.

"Oh Merlin, I've missed you guys! I thought you weren't going to show up, or worse just get on without me. Oh boy, I couldn't get a free second back home, so that's why I never sent any letters to you. Do you have any idea how hard it was to not be able to write you both letters? Torture. Oh dear me, how was your guys' summer? Hopefully they were good, because I have no intention of-"

"Hermione!" They said in unison.

She blinked, her words falling off. "What?"

Both of them glanced at each other, big grins on their faces.

"Oh nothing, just that it helps when you breathe between sentences." Ron smirked, sniggering behind his hand.

She blushed, realizing that she had been rambling. She'd let her excitement get a hold on her.

"Sorry boys." She said sheepishly. "Come on, the train will be heading out soon."

They all laughed at her words, but they moved to gather their things. The next few minutes were rather difficult, seeing as trying to board a train and untangle oneself from a woman's arms is a very hard thing to do. Ms. Weasley apparently was trying to strangle each of them before she let them get on the train, her hugs a little too desperate.

"Oh, just one more year and my little boy will be all grown up!" she squeaked, holding Ron to her.

"Mum, that 'little boy' will never grow up if you smother him!" he spouted, frustrated and embarrassed by his mothers antics.

"Oh, sorry dear." She released him, but stroked his hair lovingly. He rolled his eyes, pecked her on the cheek, and fled before she could catch him again.

Harry was already on board, a huge smile on his face because of the scene. It was clear to Hermione that he started picking on Ron almost as soon as he had gotten in the compartment by the big smile Harry was wearing and the redness of Ron's ears.

"Hermione, do be a dear this year and watch over Ronald. He seems to be getting a rebellious streak."

Hermione turned to a still distraught Ms. Weasley and nodded. Ms. Weasley beamed, grabbed her up for a quick hug, and then let her go. Hermione almost laughed out loud at the look of hatred Ron was sending her through the window. He had had to go through that torture and she just got a gentle embrace.

Hermione waved to the two Weasley parents who were standing on the platform, then climbed into the train. She was glad that they had taken so long to get on, because the halls were empty of people, making her way easier. She levitated her truck, and walked off to the compartment she always sat in. She laughed to herself, her excitement and pleasure feeling like a pliable thing around her. She always loved going to Hogwarts; it was like a second home. A place where she could just be whatever she truly was.

She walked into the compartment, settling her trunk up on the shelf with a flick of her wand. She looked at the boys to see them hard at work trying to talk over each other. She smiled, contented, as she fell into the seat across from them. They took a moment to smile at her before they returned to their battle.

She glanced out the window, not seeing the platform. Her thoughts drifted to the school, to all the spells and magic she would soon get her hands on. To the laughing, and learning, and experiencing. Merlin, she loved magic! Eventually Ginny plopped down next to her, rolling her eyes playfully when she heard the boys. The two girls soon picked up a discussion on who the newest Defense against the Dark Arts professor would be.

The peaceful bliss of company was soon dissolved, however, when an abrupt bark of laughter rang from the door. All four heads snapped to see Draco Malfoy standing there, looking just as arrogant and pompous as ever.

His sniggers died fast, but his smirk never left him. "Well, this is just grand. The Great Potter bickering like a little girl with the Weasel."

"What do you want Malfoy?" Harry growled.

"Nothing Potter," he spat, "I just wanted to see where the old ladies were being kept. Glad I found them." He looked over, spotting Ginny and Hermione. His smirk widened. "Ah, Granger and the littlest Weasel. I had thought you both had crawled and died somewhere, the thickness of your blood drowning you."

"You'd never be so lucky, Malfoy. So why don't you just go and crawl into someone's pants like a good ferret, and leave us alone." Hermione said smoothly, enjoying the anger that flared in his features. It seemed almost like he was going to spit on her, but his face just continued to twist and redden.

"Filthy mudblood, doesn't even know what manners are." With that, he left.

They all exchanged glances with each other, completely dumb struck. Had Hermione just beaten Malfoy? Harry and Ron were staring at her with wide eyes and gaping mouths, and Ginny was just beaming. They all broke into hilarious laughter, the delight in seeing Malfoy defeated too much to contain. By the time they stopped, they were all panting, holding their sides and tears flowing from their eyes. They quickly fell into discussing how their summers went, and how funny it was to see Malfoy that mad.

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"Filthy mudblood." Draco muttered, stomping away from the compartment holding Potter and his buddies. He couldn't believe it! She had actually formulated a comeback worth his time! He'd been so surprised that he hadn't had one to throw back at her wretched face. He just kept muttering to himself, trying to make himself feel better. He hated the fact that he'd left with her having the last word, but he didn't want the shock of her words to show on his face.

Since when did she actually say something to him? Since when did she say something like that? He was infuriated at her nerve, the Know-it-all's nerve. He flung himself down in his private compartment, barely giving the fine details a passing glance. He mulled over the conversation, trying to figure out at what point she had actually found some ground.

He growled and cursed under his breath, mad at himself. He was letting her fog up his thoughts. She was not worth his dirty laundry, let alone his careful observation. He shrugged her off, not wanting to let the moment wound his ego. He instead focused on something else…Which just so happened to be a first year who was lost. He smirked, his good mood returning. Maybe the day wasn't shot after all. He got up and chased after the little boy, vile words already filling his head.

He left so fast, that he failed to notice a small letter resting on the seat, a gentle and wispy script along its surface. It read:

To Mister Draco Malfoy

Compartment Number 229

The Hogwarts Express

Under the innocent looking letter was a small leather book, black and pristine, with a simple leather strap holding the pages together. Beside the book, was a black quill, so black that it was blue in the sunlight.

A small house elf climbed out from under the seat as the young Malfoy left, her whole body shaking. She quickly rearranged the letter on the book, moving it this way and that until she was happy with the way it looked. She gave a fleeting glance at the door, and then she was gone.

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	2. Chapter 2: Insomnia and Life Renewed

Hey all! I officially got my first couple of reviews today! Yay! However, they said pretty much the same thing, so I figured that I would respond to you all at once. I really have no idea where this story is going, and I actually planned the 'big' scene that happens to happen two chapters from now! Haha! So yea, guess that's what I get for letting Draco Malfoy onto my computer. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2: Insomnia and Life Renewed

"Hermione…Come on woman."

Hermione jumped up, her head banging against the window. She groaned, her hand tenderly inspecting the growing red spot beneath her hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry Herm!"

"S alright." She slurred, sleep still holding her in confusion. She looked up to find Ginny smiling at her.

"Well come on then girl! We're here and you're sleeping away!" Ginny pushed on her shoulder. "Wake up!"

Hermione nodded, smiling and wiping the sleep from her eyes. Ginny left her there to gather her things and her wits. Hermione couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep or why. She couldn't remember being this tired when she had gotten on the train. She sighed out a breath as she got herself together and levitated her trunk. She was had just gotten out of the door when she heard an irritated breath. She turned to find Malfoy standing there, arms crossed in an attempt to be overpowering.

"Yes?" she said exasperated. She was really getting tired of this git constantly bugging her.

"What? You think I have any intention of speaking to you, mudblood? You're dreaming."

She snorted. "Malfoy, no girl ever dreams of you. They dream of men, not white haired little boys." She turned on her heel and marched away, not letting her smirk show until she had gotten to the door of the train. She felt empowered, so she glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Oh, and Malfoy?"

"What?" he spat, his anger clouding his expression quite nicely.

"You might want to find another mudblood to mess around with, because this one bites back." She laughed, walking out into the crowd of departing students.

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Draco was pissed. Never had someone said something to him so calmly, so amazingly calmly that was that angering. It felt like she'd stabbed him in the eye and then asked if he needed a tissue to dab at his tears. He was so angry, he couldn't think straight. Her bob of curls spun as she left; her smile quite obvious. He was beyond words, his rage making his head hurt.

He tore down the hallway and Merlin help anyone who got in his way. He had forgotten the letter and the book on his seat. He hadn't wanted to open it just yet; slightly concerned that it was his father wanting something from him again. He was in the compartment only long enough to scoop the items into his robes and grab his trunk, and then he stormed out.

He would get her. Oh, he would get her good. Not a prank, oh no, that was just too easy. Not enough. He would have to find something on her, find some dark little secret that no one knew about her. Ha! Then they would see who had the last laugh. He heard her laughing, and was able to catch a huge grin on Granger's face and a loud laughing session going on among her friends. Oh, she'd already told all of them her 'wonderful' victory. Just great.

He blended with the other Slytherins, his mind calculating all his options about revenge.

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Hermione's good mood lasted her all night. She was able to not be Miss Know-it-all for an entire evening. She just felt so good about finally getting some payback from Malfoy. The look on his face was on a loop in her mind, and it was just great. Dinner in the Great Hall went by without a flaw. Not a single Gryffindor was picked on, not even the first years. Harry was impressed, saying it was because Malfoy had finally been whipped by a girl. Ron said it was because he was afraid to come out and face anyone. Hermione really didn't care why; she just felt good knowing that everyone was free for a night.

She glanced over at the Slytherin table, although she had no idea why. His platinum hair was hard to miss, but she found herself unable to look away from him. It wasn't like she was transfixed by him; it was more something looked off about him. He was picking at his food, his head in his hand and his eyes glazed. It was obvious he wasn't paying attention to what was going on around him, but it was strange for her to be able to see the troubled look on his face. Normally Malfoy kept nothing but his smirk on his face. It was unsettling to see an actual emotion.

She stared at him as covertly as she could, peeking at him around other people's heads so that if she was caught, he would think that she was looking at the person in front of her. She noticed that he was rather pale, more so than usual. Her mind began to wonder what was wrong with him, wondering why he looked so upset.

She almost gasped when she realized what she was doing. She was concerned…about Draco Malfoy? What was wrong with her? She felt her forehead, but she didn't have a fever. She checked her pulse, but it was normal. She had been trying to figure out a way to, Merlin help her, ease his troubles. Good lord, she was going insane.

Hermione immediately stopped looking at him, and refused to let her eyes or her mind wander back to his face or his table. She let herself get absorbed by the talk around her.

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Hermione waited until the others had gone to sleep, and then she crept down into the Common Room. She sighed as she sank into a chair before the fire, her fingers rubbing her temples. She hadn't been able to sleep, or think, about anything clearly. She couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. She never had trouble sleeping OR thinking, so what was new?

Nothing really interesting had happened, other than her comebacks to Malfoy. But why would that keep her up? If anything, that should be rocking her to sleep like a lullaby. She just didn't understand what could be causing her insomnia. She'd already tried working herself out with school work. However, it was only the first week, so there was very little to do, and she had already done most of it.

Then she tried a bath. It had worked, for as long as she had been in the tub. As soon as she was out of the water and back in her bed, her mind wouldn't calm down. She had felt so helpless, knowing that the peaceful darkness was right there, but she couldn't quite claim it.

She sighed again, deciding she needed air. Hermione threw on her cloak and walked out the portrait hole, trying her best to leave her unknown worries behind.

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Draco lay on his bed, his hands behind his head and his thoughts elsewhere. For once, he lay alone, no warm body curled beside his own. Not that it hadn't been offered by more than one girl, but he just didn't feel like it. This bothered him. He normally didn't turn down a good shag. So what was wrong with him? He'd tried to exhaust his magic by casting little spells in his room, but they seemed to only wake him up. He'd tried showering, but it only made his body want to go out and move.

He sighed, not sure what else there was to do. He was still mad about what Granger had said and he was still puzzled as to how she could have said it the first place. Never before had she really ever stood up for herself. Of course there were the few shining moments where she had, and with a passion, but twice in one day? It was almost impossible.

He groaned; mad at himself for his insomnia. Whatever his head was trying to figure out, he wished it would do it later. He just wanted to sleep. It was something he didn't do often these days, but he had wanted it tonight.

Draco shrugged on some clothes and a cloak, deciding that he might as well just go and find something to do, seeing as he was awake. He grabbed his broom as he went. Perhaps there would be something to see. Maybe that was why he couldn't sleep. He'd yet to go and fly. With a small, satisfied smile, he left the Dungeons.

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Draco leaned on his broom, a broad smile on his features. He had been right, he just needed to fly. He felt much better, and far more tired. He was finding sitting up on the broom a large effort. He started to descend slowly when something caught his eye. A small light was swaying along the ground, and as he watched, a person followed. He watched lazily as the person checked over their shoulder, and then quickly ran across the grounds.

His interest peaked, he watched from above as this person ran straight into the Forbidden Forest! His heart constricted, memories of those damned woods flowing through his head. He trembled, letting his broom edge closer to the tree tops. He could see the light, but the person was moving quickly and he was losing it. If he wanted to know, he'd have to go in after it.

He wasn't ready to go back in there, least of all willingly. He didn't care what that person was doing. He didn't want to know THAT badly. He wheeled around and started back to the castle. However, he'd only gone for a few meters before he heard a scream. It wasn't a human scream, but it was definitely full of fear and pain. He groaned and turned back around, racing for the sound.

He had no idea why he was doing this. He didn't care about anyone in this castle enough to face those woods. Yet for some reason his broom didn't turn and he plunged in between two branches.

Draco had no idea how he had gotten through the trees without being hit, but somehow he came out of the leaves and had enough time to pull up and land relatively gracefully. He quickly searched the area, his wand in his hand and his body in a defensive stance. For once, his father's teachings came in handy.

However, there was no danger. He stood up and saw a mass lying on the ground. He stepped forward slowly, his wand ready and a spell already on his tongue. He couldn't see it very well, but it was big and it was breathing heavily.

He kept moving, slowly approaching the creature, his senses on fire. The moonlight was shining down on the spot the thing was in, so when he stepped around the tree and saw it, he froze. Lying in the grass before him was a Threstral, its body tangled and broken. Its wings were a mess, both lying useless. He could tell that three of its legs were snapped. The bones had pierced through the skin and were gleaming in the moonlight, dripping with blood.

He couldn't move as his eyes wandered over it. He knew he couldn't just stand there, but he couldn't get his legs to work. Its head moved slightly, its pale eye falling on his form. It tried in vain to shrink away from him, a small frightened sound coming from its torn throat. That sound woke him, and he slowly crept forward to it. He'd forgotten all fear, completely driven by the need to help this creature. He knew pain, and this creature didn't deserve this pain.

It tried to get away from him as he got closer, but he cooed soft words to it. This Draco was not the one he knew, but it was working. The threstral was calming, its eyes never leaving him as he knelt next to it. He waved his wand over it slowly, mumbling every healing spell he knew. All the while, he continued to speak soft and calming words to it.

"What did you do to yourself? Well don't worry, you'll be all fixed up in a moment." He whispered.

Slowly, its body began to seem more alive. Its legs had returned to the strong columns that they were and its skin was once again black and smooth. Its neck was closed, and it seemed much stronger. However, it didn't move an inch, except when it lifted its head to watch him work. He hadn't felt his weariness at first, but the spells were beginning to add up and his spells were becoming harder and harder to cast. He sighed, leaning back to take a break.

The threstral watched him, its chest rising and falling smoothly. There was a stir somewhere behind him and his eyes snapped open. He listened, trying to hear anything. There was another stir, leaves quietly crunching. He clutched his wand tighter, adrenaline rushing through his veins. The threstral's head had come up, and it was lying a bit taller, it's still mangled wings lying along its back as it stared over his shoulder.

There was a sound, like a deep breath, and then nothing. In a single moment, the threstral screamed and stood up, tearing off in the other direction. He turned, registering the mass of fur that was flying at him, but he had no time. The thing landed on him, its weight shoving him onto his back. It immediately began to attack him, his soft flesh giving way under its large claws.

Draco, even though he was being mauled, was able to think clearly. He felt that his wand wasn't in his hand anymore, so he did his best to protect his throat from the creature while trying to find some weak point. He hit it, over and over again, but it didn't flinch. He was starting to get dizzy, his wounds beginning to add up as his blood coated the ground beneath him.

The things head rammed down, its jaws open. He yelled, shoving his arm into its maw. He knew that it would bite down, but it wouldn't be able to go for his throat if it had his arm. Just as he had thought, it sank its teeth into his arm, causing another yell to rip from him. The pain didn't last long, because the creature leapt from his chest.

He was dazed and stunned, the pain still dancing on his nerves. Slowly sound and sight came back to him, and he heard a threstral scream, which was followed by a deep roar. He turned his head, his eyes falling on an amazing, yet frightening sight.

The threstral he had saved was standing in front of him, its broken wings stretched out and its teeth bared. The creature that had been attacking him appeared to be some kind of large cat, with two tails and six legs. He had no idea what it was, but the threstral seemed to. It shrieked once more, and then it charged. In a blur, the two creatures met, and the sounds were horrifying. Draco couldn't tell what was threstral and what was large cat, they were so close. One of them would strike, and the victim would scream, only to then make an attack and return the blow.

He felt around slowly, his limb feeling like lead, until he found his wand. He sighed as his fingers wrapped around it, relief flowing through him. He raised it to himself and cast a quick healing spell so that he would stop loosing so much blood. Then he forced his body to move, completely ignoring the battle as he tried to stand.

He saw from the corner of his eye that the threstral was down, its chest heaving in pain. Draco threw his arm forward, a spell bursting from his lips automatically. It was dead on, hitting the cat in the side. It roared as if flew a few feet, and then fell silent from hitting a tree. It didn't move again.

Draco struggled to his feet, each move a war that he had to win or he would fall back to the ground. Somehow, he found himself up and he then limped over to the threstral, who still had not risen. When he got to it, he crumbled back to his knees. It was barely breathing, a large set of gashes running over its rib cage. It would never survive a wound like that.

He felt tears coming, his exhaustion and pain hard enough, but the idea of this creature dying because it saved him was too much. He didn't deserve to be saved, let alone died for. He scowled, summoning every ounce of power he had left. He knew he shouldn't, that he might die if he cast another spell, but he didn't care. This creature had risked its life to save him; it was only fair he do the same.

He said the spell as confidently as he could, and he nearly fainted from the effort. He had never felt so drained in his life, never had he been so tired. He didn't even watch to see if the spell worked; he just let his head fall down and let his dry eyes slide closed. He listened to his heart beating, feeling his weariness sink into his bones. He didn't hear the threstral stir, didn't hear it take a breath. He felt defeated. He hadn't done it, he couldn't save it.

His shoulders fell and he slumped, the disappointment and pain and fear all too much. He couldn't do this, he couldn't let this happen. This would always happen. People will sacrifice themselves for an unworthy boy. He felt so alone, and so empty. The threstral should have just let him be, should have just kept running. Instead it fought for him, in defense of him. He didn't deserve this.

He buried his face in his blood covered hands, not caring at all that he was covered from head to toe in drying blood. He cried; the tears too much to hold in. He'd only been at the school a single day, and already it was happening. All summer he knew he would be followed by misery and by pain, but this? This was a creature of innocence that didn't deserve what he had done to it. He should have just gone back to the castle; it wouldn't have had to die like this.

He didn't hear anything but the sound of his own misery, so when a soft, wet nose touched his cheek he jerked away. He looked on with shock as the threstral shuffled its repaired wings, inching closer to him. It rubbed its muzzle on his cheek again, and then its tongue darted out to touch him. He stared at it dumbly, completely immobile with shock. It was alive? He'd done it? He couldn't believe that it was ok.

Draco drew a deep breath, trying to calm down his relief and excitement. It was alive! It bent its head and began to lick his hands, careful to not catch his skin with its teeth. He watched it for a moment, enthralled by its tender care. He couldn't help himself as he threw his arms around its neck. The creature didn't even flinch away in surprise. Instead it crooned in its chest, the sound vibrating against his own chest. He grinned, besides the fact that they were both tired and unable to stand. They stayed like that for a time, its head resting against his back. It crooned again, its head pulling back as it began to clean him again. This time he let it, watching in fascination at how thorough it was being. It cleaned him from his face to his neck and it cleaned every place that was showing through his torn and tattered clothes.

He noticed that as the moon traveled through the sky, it illuminated the threstral's side. He saw that the gashes had healed, but there were very thick scars running down its flank now. It made his heart sink some, remembering how close it had been to death. He turned, his eyes searching the stiff form of the cat against the tree. It was obvious that it was dead, but what was it? He gently moved from the still grooming threstral and slowly paced over to the creature.

He jumped at the threstral's slight scream. It was more of a clipped called, but it definitely scared him. The threstral was on its feet by the time he looked back at it, and it quickly walked up to him. It reached its wing out and smacked him gently with it, snorting at him reproachfully. He chuckled quietly, realizing that the threstral was scolding him!

It went on past him, picking up a small stone in its teeth. It looked back at him pointedly, and then it tossed the stone. It hit the dead creature smack on its back, and to Draco's surprise, it burst into bright golden flames. They only lasted a moment before they were gone, and so was the body. Draco gawked, stunned. What would that have done if he had been the one to touch the dead body? He looked over at the threstral to see it watching him, its eyes almost reflecting a smirk.

He laughed. It was smug about it teaching him a thing or two! And, it saved his life once again. He sighed, a smile still on his lips as it walked back over to him. It bowed its head, making small sounds that reminded him of laughing. He couldn't understand why people feared these creatures. Sure, they were rather scary on the outside with their pale eyes and skeletal appearance, but they were smart, courageous, and just plain amazing. Why would anyone _not_ want them around?

Draco didn't know how he knew, but as he observed this threstral before him, he knew it was male. He could have looked, but he didn't need to. He just knew that the creature before him was male, and it was now scarred by its brave actions. He sighed affectionately, his heart growing for him. Draco knew he would have to go back to the castle at some point, but he didn't feel like it right now.

The two found a soft spot to sit, and they shared the night in comfortable silence. Neither demanded attention from the other, but both drew contentment from the other being near. Slowly, the sun began to rise and with it, the threstral stood. Draco got up too, though a bit more stiffly. He hadn't realized how weak he still was, or how badly his body was aching.

The threstral gave a small sighing sound, stepping up to him and rubbing its head against his chest. He smiled and hugged it gently, his heart heavy with the thought of parting from him.

Draco made eye contact with the threstral, and smiled. He needed a name, something that he could be proud of. Draco thought about it, so many names flitting through his mind. He wanted something that depicted the heart of this creature before him. He needed to give him a name that others would say in whispered awe if they ever saw him. He needed a name that would never be forgotten.

"Selton…" he whispered. He rolled it around in his mouth, hearing it in his head. It was perfect. Apparently, the threstral agreed. He picked up his head, his ears tilted forward in interest.

"What do you think? Would you like to be known as Selton?" Draco had no idea why he was talking to him like he could possibly be able to understand, but it felt right and appropriate.

The threstral threw his head, a cry ringing from him. Draco grinned, taking that as a yes as he began to prance around in a circle, his wings spread and his head high.

"Selton it is."

With that, and another departing embrace, Draco left. He was still limping and his body was fighting him every step of the way. Yet he found his way out of the forest somehow and was soon safe within the Dungeons once again, his thoughts trailing back to what had happened that night. He had come so close to death, and instead he had made a friend. How odd the way life works sometimes…

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	3. Chapter 3: Surprises and Intentions

Hey readers! I know, I have like 5 of you, but Hi to you none the less. I took a while to write this, I know, but I wanted to get past 5,000 words for this chapter. The last chapters were rather short, and I wasn't happy with that, so yea. Ha, I hope you like. (If you find any errors, go ahead and send me a message. I'll change it right away. There's only so many times one person can reread a story for errors before they can't take it anymore.)

A/N

**Senjaninja**: Thanks! I'm glad you liked the battle! I wasn't sure how the reaction would be to it. Honestly, I've never really been all that good at telling the action of an intense moment, so I was a tad worried! Lol, don't worry, there will be a bunch more in the way of good Draco emotions! Ya know, I'm glad you mention the Hermione standing up to him thing. You don't really see too much of that in the books or the movies. Other than when she punched him in the face, or course. Lolol, I just wanted to paint her in a different light. Ya know, more mature, more capable of handling herself. Even if it is by accident. xD

**Peaceloveberries**: Lol, I'm sorry about the summary thing. I did that on the fly because I had no idea what I was doing. Lol, I've already changed it twice and I'm sure I'll continue to change it as the story progresses. Ya know, I actually have a very vague image of where this story will go, and a lot of the storyline has yet to be filled in. I'm wondering where Draco will go to, but after this chapter, I think it becomes pretty clear what his thoughts are. Lolol.

**IGOTEAMEDWARD**: Thanks! I'm glad you liked it!

**rec2527**: Well, I hope you keep reading, because I'm sure it's going to get better!

**sammy sosa the 13th**: Thank you! Well, you don't have to wait anymore!

Also, I noticed for the last two chapters that I didn't add disclaimers. THIS STORY DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. THE CHARACTERS AND SETTING BELONG TO J.K. ROWLING. However, the plot, storyline, and actual character relationships belong to me. (I've noticed a few writers who take other peoples stories and call them something else so that they can take credit for them. Let's just keep that from happening right now, huh?) There, now that's that done, on to the story!

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Chapter 3: Surprises and Misunderstood Intentions

Hermione blew out a breath, once again tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The last thing she needed was her potion to come in contact with any part of her! Permanent Sticking Brew's weren't exactly picky about what it was that was stuck; only that it was stuck well. Hermione focused her thoughts back to her stirring, slowing her hand as needed and stirring three more times clockwise. She didn't even look as she reached over to pick up the dragon's scale, which was the final ingredient. She counted slowly in her mind, waiting for the single bubble that would mark her potion as ready for the scale.

The world quieted around her as her eyes stared into her potion, just waiting. Even Harry's low mumbling soon disappeared. _There it is!_ She didn't wait a moment, gently dropping the scale right over the bubble. She sighed when it sank into the potion slowly, and then stirred it for a moment, five strokes left, three right. To her pure contentment, it was the exact pearly white that it was supposed to be, and when she lifted her spoon, she saw that it was the correct consistency. She almost cheered for joy as she bottled it quickly, not allowing it to cool before putting it in the magically sealed vials.

Then she allowed herself to relax, a heavy breath passing from her. She felt so good. She had known that she could do the potion, seeing as she had already known all about it from two years ago. However, to actually pull it off, and do it right the first time, was a brilliant lift for her ego and spirit. It was one of her favorite things to do. She loved succeeding, going past expectations. She let a small smile touch her lips, not caring if anyone saw her look smug for a moment.

Her gaze wandered slightly, seeing as she had five minutes still before she had to turn in the potion. She could have gotten up and given it to Professor Snape as soon as she finished, but she'd learned rather quickly that that only got the others nervous and accidents normally happened after that point. So, she just looked around the room as she sat back in her chair. Both Harry and Ron were finishing up with their potions, though Ron was cutting his Brombin root at the wrong angle and Harry was stirring too fast. She felt the urge to help them, but a quick glance over at the Professor told her not to.

Another thing she had learned recently was that though the students loved her help, most often the Professors didn't. She could guess why. The professors wouldn't be able to judge the actual abilities of their students if those students were doing the work tactics and ways of Miss Granger. It would be more like trying to grade a class room of Hermiones! So, she ignored the mistakes her best friends were making and let her gaze continue on.

The other students in the Advanced Potions class were doing averagely, with most of them coming out with slightly worthwhile potions. She had no doubt that not one of those potions would actually be used by Professor Snape, but they were ok. It was a hard potion, with timing and regulation being extremely important. You couldn't turn your back on the potion for an instant because it needed constant movement to develop correctly.

Her eyes slid over to the Slytherin tables and her lip curled a bit. All of them were lounging around, their hands behind their heads and resting or whispering with each other. Sitting in front of each of them was a group of vials like her own, but still. They looked so bored! She sent a quick look to the Professor, but of course he wasn't going to say anything to their manner. Only her house was punished for breathing in the wrong way.

She growled, her eyes falling on Malfoy. He had his arms crossed on the desk, his head on his arms and his eyes were closed. It looked as if he was sleeping. She grumbled at his audacity and pompous ways as she bent over to gather her left over supplies. Even though she knew exactly how much she needed of everything, accidents could happen and she always got herself more than she needed, just in case.

She was just finishing folding up the crisp Hoglort leaves when something hit her arm softly. She looked down and spotted a little folded bird, flapping its wings in her lap quietly. She smiled gently, picking it up and unfolding it.

_Smile, mudblood!_

Hermione's brow came together as she reread the words. How strange? It was definitely from Malfoy, but what the hell did it mean? She didn't have to wait for an answer to that question as the little paper suddenly burst into sparks in her face. She shrieked, falling backwards in her chair in her surprise. She coughed, the sparks rushing into her mouth and nose when she accidently breathed in. She coughed again as she sat up, and she couldn't stop. She heard the Professor yelling for the class to leave the room immediately, but she couldn't focus on it. Her lungs were on fire, as if the sparks were sinking into the flesh of her lungs.

She heard her Professor bend next to her but she couldn't make out his cutting words. She looked up, tears watering her eyes as her coughs became more haggard and wet. Malfoy was standing in the door of the Potions classroom, a wide grin on his face. He waved his hand at her and then disappeared just as another cough came. Her hand flew to her mouth, and when the cough ended, she spotted red on her hand. She stared at it, the burning in her chest only getting worse. She glanced over at Snape, her fear no doubt showing on her face for the last second she was conscious. The next thing she knew, she was in darkness, but the fire in her never ceased.

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Draco sat at the table, his grin still on his features. _Oh, the look on her face was priceless_, he thought. The entire scene just kept replaying in his mind. Her opening the bird, reading it, the sparks jumping out at her, her shriek, her coughing her lungs out. He almost couldn't hold in his laugh. He tried to resist his urge to look over at her table, but he didn't put too much effort into it. He searched the Gryffindor table for her fuzzy head, but didn't see her. Neither was Potter or Weasel there. Odd.

The little charm wasn't going to leave a lasting effect on her, but it was going to bug the hell out of her. Those little sparks would continue to give off a heat for a week, and they would plague her endlessly. He wasn't really concerned about her actually being hurt because it wasn't possible. It hurt, sure, but it couldn't be fatal. No one ever died from it, not that he cared though. She was just a mudblood, but still. Unless of course, someone did it wrong. Then the flames could be dangerous, but it was _him_. Draco Malfoy had not cast that charm wrong. Maybe the little mudblood wouldn't be so quick to insult him the next time. His smug look returned as he dug into his meal.

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Hermione, on the other hand, was suffering. No doubt about that. The little sparks that she had breathed in had yet to leave her, and she was coughing up blood regularly now. All her professors had offered to try and figure out what was the cause of her symptoms, but so far, no one had a clue. Madam Pompfry was working her hardest to keep Hermione comfortable, but it wasn't easy. Her chest ached from the burning and breathing almost hurt too much to be worth it. The coughing was so horrible that she had torn her throat, so she couldn't even talk.

However, her brain was just as fast as ever. Through some very messy hand written notes, she'd expressed her wish to help figure out what was wrong with her. To the horror of everyone, she'd only taken one hour to progress to her current point after the little bird burst in her hands. Only one hour and she was weak, tired, mute, and stuck in the Infirmary.

This is what Hermione had gathered after the fifth book. She slammed it closed a bit harder than was needed, but no one really noticed. All her teachers had cancelled their classes so that they could help her, even Snape. That had surprised her at first, but after seeing him retreat back with some of the paper that had been on her clothes, she realized he wanted to understand the spell. He wanted to know what it was that was affecting her because he didn't know what it was. It was something new to learn. She understood that.

She sighed, flinching when the air passed her sore throat. She hated Malfoy. She really did. How could anyone knowingly do this to another person? She had been told that she couldn't eat because of her throat, so she had to ignore her protesting stomach while she grabbed up another book. She loved researching, but she could feel her anger and frustration building as each breath burned her chest. She'd only just opened the book when another cough tore through her, and she was quick to move the book. She sighed, signally for help as the blood seeped into the sheets. Professor Flitwick got up from the stack he was sitting next to and came over.

"I'm so sorry about this whole mess, dear." He sighed, waving his wand over the blood stain. It disappeared neatly, leaving the white sheets unmarked. "I know we'll figure this out soon." He gave her a warm smile, which she returned half-heartedly, before he went back to his books. She fought the urge to scream in frustration, turning her anger toward a goal. Figuring out what the hell was wrong with her. She nearly attacked the book in her vigorous hands, the pages shrinking from her piercing eyes.

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Draco stopped, leaning against the wall just outside of the Infirmary. He'd heard from a passing group of students that Granger was still 'sick.' He immediately smelled trouble, so he had decided to do some checking. He'd asked around, and the rumor was confirmed. All the classes had been canceled and the libraries had been assaulted by every single teacher. He knew something wasn't right with all this. The charm shouldn't have had this big of an impact, at least not enough to get the attention of every damn professor in the place. He peeked around the slightly ajar door, peering in with criticizing eyes. All the professors were scattered in the room, sitting in chairs, at tables, or on the floor. Every inch of space around all of them was covered in books. He groaned inwardly, and then sought out the source of his pain.

There she was, sitting in the bed while staring at a book. He almost snorted in disgust. Even then, she had her nose in a book. He kept watching, waiting for the huge problem that equaled the reaction. He had to sit there for about a minute before he got the show he wanted. He watched as suddenly she thrust the book away from her to her left, and then gave the most gut wrenching cough he'd ever heard. To his further horror, blood flew from her mouth, coating the sheets. She laid back weakly, her own blood on her lips as she waved to Flitwick.

He groaned as he backed away from the door slowly. He felt his body grow too heavy to hold, so he leaned against the wall as what he saw sank in. He let his head fall back against the cold stone, his mind strangely numb. He'd done that? How? There was no way that the charm hadn't worked correctly. Right? He growled, banging his head against the wall again, harder. How could he have been so stupid? Granger no doubt knew who it was, especially after his friendly wave.

If, and this was a big if, but if he had messed up the charm somehow, he could be in serious trouble. That charm was harmless, but it could be so deadly. Plenty of people had died because of the charm when it was done wrong. Why had he chosen that one? He growled, pushing away from the wall. He needed a way to get out of this, a way to prove that it wasn't him. He was coming up blank as he stalked down the halls. If she decided to blame him, or worse, if she died, there would be no end to the consequences. _Fuck_. _Just Fuck_. He was doomed.

He let his mind race, so many ideas racing through his head as his feet led him to his private rooms. That was one benefit of being in Slytherin, among all the others of course. You had your own rooms. He'd heard that those wretched Gryffindors slept in the same rooms, five at a time. It made his skin crawl, just the idea of it. He laid his hand on the brick even with his eyes on a plain wall, gently whispering the password while twitching his fingertips in the right rhythm. The doors opened for him easily, and his harsh steps resumed as he made his way to his own room. There were others in the common room, but they knew the signs of him in a bad mood and no one spoke to him.

Once in the safety of his own space, he flung off his cloak and leaped onto the bed, taking the anger out of his body by the action. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. How could something as simple as revenge be so complicated? How could one annoying girl make his life so hard? He grumbled, deciding he needed to write down this build up, otherwise he would explode. He wrenched open his bed side drawer, pulling out the little black book and the inky quill he'd been given while on the train.

He'd discovered that it was a journal, of sorts, that burned every word he wrote into the page. When he closed it, it locked itself with its straps, and it wouldn't open if another touched it. He'd tried. He'd been pleased with it, so he'd started using it. To his dismay, however, he found that if he didn't write in it, he began to feel more and more stressed. It was as if the book wouldn't let him relax until he wrote in its pages. He shrugged away the oddity of the idea of a book controlling him, instead flipping to the first blank page and began writing.

He poured himself into it, letting all his anger, his frustration, and his slight fear show through his words. After he took a breath, rereading what he had written, the letters flared and then cooled. He smirked, blowing on the page gently. Where only a few moments ago his handwriting had sat in ink, there were now scorch marks. The marks were still in his handwriting, and there was no smudging because of the burning process. But they were definitely burns and _not_ ink.

He sighed as he closed the book tenderly, feeling all around better. The thing had that effect on him. Whenever he finished writing, he felt cleaner and lighter, as if there wasn't a care in the world. He didn't mind it most of the time, because he could trust that it wouldn't betray him. There had been too many times to count in his life where those around him had betrayed him for their own personal gain. Sure, he'd done it too, but that didn't mean others had to. It was just plain rude.

This book, however, would never do that. Only he could open it, only he could write in it, only he could read it. It would never speak falsehoods to him, because what it had to say was what he told it. It would always be silent and listen, instead of trying to dominate the conversation. It was just a book, but it was beginning to feel like a trusted friend. He set it back into its drawer with its quill, and laid back in his bed. His mind was sharper now, and he needed to spend some time to figure out what to do about the mudblood. He couldn't just wait around for her to decide to come and get him.

Frustratingly, he was coming up without a plan. He gave up, letting the problem wait until later. Instead he rolled, nestling into the soft covers and drifting off. Silently, in its drawer, the journal tied itself up neatly with its straps, the lack of contact with its master telling it to protect the contents of its pages. Just as silently, a single word burned into the introduction page of the journal.

"Beginning."

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"Hermione!"

Her head snapped up, sound suddenly crashing on her senses like a storm. She closed her eyes, and then pulled a smile onto her features, though she was sure that it didn't reach her eyes.

Harry smiled back, a look of relief on his face. "Merlin, how come you didn't answer me? I thought you'd gone deaf or something!"

She just smiled sweetly, nudging the book in her hands to tell him that she'd been concentrating. She could have written it out, but for some reason, Harry always knew what she meant anyway. So why bother?

He laughed, giving her a knowing look. "Even now, you can't help but be dragged in." He sighed dramatically. "Well, I guess you don't want this dinner then…" He smirked, glancing at her from under his lashes.

Her eyes jerked to the steaming plate of food, and her mouth watered desperately. She looked back at him, pleading with him. He laughed again, silently setting the plate in her lap on top of her book. She normally would have reprimanded him for treating a book that way, but she didn't care. She grabbed up silverware and barely registered him as she shoveled the sweet bliss that was food into her body.

Twenty wonderful minutes later, the plate was empty but she was happy. She laid back against the pillows behind her, her throat a bit sore, but her stomach content. She felt so much better, and she did her best to show all her thankfulness to Harry, who was still sitting next to her. He grinned at her.

"I've never seen you eat like Ron before. It works for you."

He was answered by a pillow in the face.

They fell quiet as he settled the pillow in his lap, exchanging soft smiles. Then he sighed, his face turning sober.

"We'll figure this out, Herm. You won't be like this forever." She wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, her or himself? She just gave him a warm smile, patting his hand gently. He returned the smile, leaned forward to kiss her forehead and then left. She watched him go sadly, hoping that he was right.

Hermione didn't have to dwell on the topic though, because Professor McGonagall stepped up and sat beside her.

"How are you doing dear?" her voice was soft and full of stress and worry.

Hermione picked up her quill, writing quickly, _'I've been better.'_

The Professor nodded. "I'm sure you have been." She waited a moment, and then she seemed to muster something, perhaps her courage? "Do you remember anything about who might have done this to you?"

Hermione's thoughts flew back to the classroom, to the moment when she had seen Malfoy grin so widely and wave at her. Yes, she knew exactly who did this to her.

'_Yes.'_

"Well goodness, girl, who?"

'_Malfoy.'_

The Professor suddenly stopped looking so excited, her expression falling back down. She seemed to contemplate Hermione's answer for a long while before she started speaking softly.

"I was afraid that you would say that. We've been keeping an eye on all the students, waiting for a guilty face. He's the only one who seems truly troubled by the events, at least in a dark sense. He's been brooding quite a bit, remaining up in his room for hours at a time and he hasn't spoken to any of his House mates recently. I was truly hoping you would say another name, Miss Granger."

The Professors words became too quiet to hear as she descended into her own thoughts. She mumbled for a second longer before snapping back, and she smiled sweetly at Hermione. She opened her mouth to speak, but a loud bang caused them both to jump and look at the doors in shock. Snape was standing there, his whole body tense as he stared at McGonagall with a feral look.

"What name did she say?" His voice was quiet, but Hermione noticed with a shudder of fear that it was shaking as he spoke.

"She said Draco Malfoy was-" She didn't get to finish as a harsh yell burst from Snape. He spun on his heel without further ado and was gone in a twirl of black cloth. McGonagall gave her a small, apologetic smile and dashed after him, no doubt to protect any student who accidently got in his way.

Hermione thought about what she had just seen, and a wicked smile touched her lips. Malfoy was in for one hell of a surprise. She'd never seen Snape look so unhinged before. She silently hoped that someone would be around to catch a picture of the moment when Snape burst into Malfoy's room in his rage. She would love to see that on a moving picture, replaying over and over again.

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Hermione didn't get any word on what happened to Malfoy. She constantly bugged her Professors, trying to get the information she so longed for, but they simply refused to tell her. She'd even asked Professor Sprout, and she had blushed and said that she couldn't tell her. So, as a way of showing her frustration, she'd been ignoring them all. Viciously. When any of her teachers approached her to speak to her, she would pointedly look at them. If they didn't start telling her, she would look away, not responding when they said what they wanted to say.

Normally she would have been horrified by _anyone_ doing such a thing to a teacher, but she felt a bit looser around them because of the last week. She felt like she knew them a bit better because she had seen them when they were 'relaxed' and didn't have their Professor faces on. She'd spoken to them like close friends, and they did the same. They talked to her like an equal; therefore she had begun to feel like one.

So every time one of them would come to speak to her and she would look away, they would laugh softly, tell her what they wanted to tell her, and then leave. Not once did they feel compelled to tell her what she wanted to know. She knew it was selfish, but damnit! She wanted to know what had been done to the brat Malfoy because of what he had done to her. Her voice had returned slightly, although she couldn't use it very long before she got too tired to go on. The burning in her chest had only gotten worse over time, though at a far more gradual pace then when she had first gotten it. She couldn't do anything without the scorching in her chest.

Hermione looked away from the window in the Infirmary, knowing that if she didn't she would continue to think about things she'd gone over dozens of times. She sighed, ruffling her hair slightly as she walked around tenderly. So much bed rest had made her body slightly sluggish when she moved, so she'd been told to walk around every day to keep her muscles from breaking down.

Classes had resumed three days ago, but her professors still kept up their vigorous searches. Every one of them was starting to show signs of the wear and tear it was doing to them. Hermione felt bad, and had tried to tell them to quit for a few days. They, of course, told her to stop acting the mother and return to being the student.

Now however, she was alone. Madam Pompfry was back in her office, no doubt catching as much sleep as she could. Hermione wasn't easy to take care off as this spell on her took root. She'd been unable to keep food down, and was steadily losing weight. She had to take nutrient potions just to stay on her feet. She had no idea what she looked like now, and Hermione had absolutely no interest in finding out. She didn't want the shock of what was happening to her be known to her eyes.

Hermione was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't hear Professor Snape enter the Infirmary, nor did she hear it when he cleared his throat to get her attention. So, when he touched her shoulder from behind, she nearly leapt from her skin as she whirled around. He caught her, and steadied her, until she was stable again before he spoke to her.

"I'm guessing that you are still going to ignore any and all professor until news is given to you?" He had a slight smile on his face, and it reached his eyes. He'd been doing that a lot lately, but only when he was in 'private'.

Hermione didn't say anything, just watched him with the pointed look. He laughed softly for a moment.

"Well, I've been asked to inform you."

She grinned. "Really?" her voice was croaky and broken, but it was better than parchment.

He nodded, and then motioned her towards her bed to sit. She took his invitation, biting her lip as she crossed her legs under her, waiting.

"Mister Malfoy was caught attempting to wipe his wand of all recent spells. When it was tested, it became apparent that the spell that was used on that note was cast by him. He has received two months of detentions and his father was contacted by Dumbledore himself. Let's just say that I have seen Lucius Malfoy happier." He smiled evilly, a small gesture than gave her the shivers, though her smile still remained.

"Draco was pulled from Hogwarts and is currently at home, receiving punishment there. When he comes back here, his assigned detentions will be resumed. Have no fear Ms. Granger; he's getting what he deserves."

Hermione sat back, letting the news sink in. Strangely, she didn't feel any better. Was what he had done worth _all_ of that? Half of her said yes, most definitely. The other half said that that seemed like too much. She sighed, bringing herself from her thoughts.

"Thank you Professor. I appreciate you telling me." He smiled gently.

"It's ok to feel slightly guilty. Trust me, I feel no differently. His father is not a good man to have angry at you. However, he could very well be the…" He stopped suddenly, his eyes darting from hers.

Hermione knew what he had wanted to say. "The death of me." She said softly.

Her professor sighed; patting her hand slightly, then he got up and strode away, his cloak snapping behind him. She leaned back and settled into her bed, going over it all. He could be the reason she died at seventeen. But even knowing that, she wasn't sure if a confrontation with his father was an equal punishment to his actions. She had her own opinions of Lucius Malfoy, and none of them were pleasant. What would he do to Malfoy? She scoffed at herself, pushing away her concerns. She didn't give a damn what happened to that boy. He deserved whatever he got because of what he had done to her.

This thought was supported strongly when she broke into haggard coughs, her entire body shaking with each force. Finally she fell back, winded and exhausted. Yep, he deserved every moment.

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Draco sank into a chair, his own body aching. Thankfully, he was alone in his room, so he could bare his emotions. Although, he was strangely numb, as if he wasn't really there. He knew that what had just happened had actually happened, but he didn't quite believe it. It seemed apart from him, like his body had been going through the motions and actions without his direction.

He looked down at his left arm, and to his dismay, there sat the reddened Dark Mark. He shuddered as the tattoo stood out from his skin, as if it wasn't really a part of him. But it was, now. His father had taken him from the school, all frowns and upset words. However, as soon as they had gotten home, his father had given him rare words of approval. Draco had been surprised, until his father mentioned the Dark Lord. Apparently, the Dark Lord was impressed by Draco's choice of revenge on the mudblood and wanted to congratulate him on his success.

Draco had been nervous, but he hadn't let it show until he realized what congratulations from the Dark Lord meant. He was to receive his Mark as a reward. He'd never wanted the thing, hating the fact that it had already claimed so much of his family. But, for fear of his life, he had taken it with a smile. Now however, he stared at it with hatred and loathing. It was an ugly, horrible thing. And now it was on him, a part of him.

He scratched at it with his nails; half hoping it would peel off if he dug deep enough. To no avail. He growled, feeling like he'd reached an all-time low. Nothing he would ever do would get him out of this. Nothing he could do could reverse what he had let be done to him.

He let his mind wander to the reasons why this had happened. The only thing that flared in his memories was the Granger girl. She had done this to him. No, wait. He had done it. He had been the reason. He'd just blamed it on her because it was easy. He sighed, his eyes focusing on his Mark again. He always took the easy road, it seemed. No, she wasn't to blame for her words or her hatred of him. If anything, he'd earned so much more than a few cutting words from her. He'd insulted her every day since the day he had met her.

He didn't feel the same anymore. It was sudden, as if taking the Mark made him realize all that he could have had and never took. He could have made that stupid know-it-all his friend. He could have made the whole Golden Trio his friends. But no, because Potter had turned him away, he had labeled them as enemies. What a stupid boy he had been. What a stupid man he was now.

He sighed, burying his face into his hands. There was no way to undo this, but maybe he could turn it around somehow. He didn't really want to do Death Eater things. He didn't have the stomach for it, and his conscience always got in the way. He always saw the pain and fear in the eyes of those his father was torturing and he would feel compelled to save them. No matter how hard he had tried to get that feeling to go away, it would always flare to life if someone was in pain or in trouble. If they could get out of it themselves, then oh well. But if they were trapped? He would feel the need to help them, no matter the cost.

He wished once again that he had taken the time to make true friends. He needed someone that he could trust right now. He was so lost and unsure. Could he do as Snape was doing and be a double agent? Could he even get those in the Order to believe that he _wasn't_ on the Dark Lord's side? He didn't think so. They had watched him grow up, and that entire time he had been rooting for the snake man.

A lock of his white blond hair fell into his vision and his blood ran cold. He hated what he was, hated what he looked like. His father was Satan, and he was Satan's son. He deserved whatever any of the 'good' side gave him. He'd not given them any idea that he felt any differently from his father, so why not let them continue to believe what they wanted? He groaned, rubbing his sore arm.

Draco sat back in his chair, his hand on the Mark as he closed his eyes. He'd figure out what he was going to do in a moment. However, that moment never came as his father crashed through his door a second later, his face red and his white hair flashing around him.

His father didn't say a word, but his eyes sparked as he struck Draco. Then he did it again. Draco tried to not defend himself, but his body automatically blocked a blow that would have rammed his head against the armrest of the chair he was in. His father froze, and Draco gasped.

"Why you…" His father whispered.

Then all hell broke loose. Draco didn't even have time to really see what was being thrown at him. All he knew was that he had fallen from the chair and he was being kicked, over and over again. He could feel his stomach pressing against his spine with each kick and he could feel his ribs breaking one at a time from the forces. He tried to keep his cry's to a minimum, but it didn't work very well. When his father forced his boot tip into Draco's groin, he couldn't help but scream in agony.

Then his father pulled his wand, aiming it at his only son. Draco closed his eyes, panting softly in an effort to catch his breath. His whole body was on fire, and he could feel blood running over his skin around his midsection. He didn't have long to count injuries though, because his father had decided he wasn't done being punished for god only knew what.

"Crucio." It was spoken softly, but Draco knew that that didn't matter.

Then he was on fire. His entire body was screaming as pain ripped through his muscles, his cells, his bones. All he could feel was white pain, and he could hear his screams as they echoed off the walls. He was once again, strangely apart from it all. And even though he could feel the pain, he was able to concentrate on the things around him. He noticed that his father was grinning as Draco's body writhed below him. He noticed that more blood was seeping from his body, and it was beginning to form a good sized pool.

Draco didn't know how long he was under the curse, but when his father pulled his wand away, Draco fell limp. He had to spend every ounce of his energy just to breathe, let along make his body unfold from its odd position. He looked up, every nerve in his body firing wrong and making the lingering pain worse.

"You will return to Hogwarts now. Tell Snape that your punishment has been finished and you have been sent back to school. Tell no one of your being Marked. Say what you need to about me to make your injuries and your story believable. I will not take offence to what you say."

With that, his father spun and was gone. Draco curled into a ball slowly, his body screaming at him to stop moving. Once in the safety of his arms, he allowed himself to cry. His tears mingled with his blood, and he drifted off slowly. Draco reached for the blackness before him, hoping it would take away the pain.

Suddenly, he was snapped back by the sound of a drop hitting hard wood. He forced his head to look down, and he didn't like what he saw. His body was a mess and his clothes were stained by his blood. He groaned and struggled to sit up, knowing that if he just laid there, he would bleed out. Somehow, he made it to his feet. He leaned against the couch for support, his knees wobbly and his vision blurry. He stood there for a moment, gathering his strength, and then he moved for the fire place. He scrambled up to it, catching the mantle and hanging on as another wave of pain washed over him.

Once it was gone, he reached over for the Floo powder box and grabbed a handful, throwing it into the fireplace. Relief washed over him for a second when the green flames leaped into being. He stepped in, leaning against the wall and letting his eyes close in exhaustion.

"Severus Snape's Office."

He held onto consciousness, grasping it in his iron grip and commanding it to stay with him. He need to stay awake long enough to make sure he made it to the right place. With a spurt of ash, he was tossed onto a cold stone floor. He didn't move to pick himself up as he heard a chair scrap on the stone and quick footsteps.

"Oh Draco, what has he done to you now?" The voice was soft and gentle, like the hands that were lifting his clothes and checking his body. He knew it was Severus, and he let himself relax, this time allowing his vision to go dark as blood loss took over. He had no idea what was happening as an annoying voice whispered into his ear, speaking too low for him to understand. He told it to go away, and climbed deeper into the blackness.

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End file.
